overpopulated ▪︎ minsung

chapter 9; sirens

The revolving doors felt trapping as Jisung rushed into the crowded Department of Colors. Minho fell asleep in the uncomfortable bed hours before, and Jisung seized his opportunity to escape and fix Minho’s mistake (Minho didn't think of what he did as a mistake, even when he heard the machine flatline). Jisung ducked under arms and crying women, nearly slamming into the reception desk.

“I need to speak to the head, immediately.” His words dripped with determination, but the receptionist was unfazed. She continued to mindlessly click on her keyboard, only glancing up momentarily to ask Jisung a simple question.

“I'm sorry, sir. Who are you, and do you have an appointment?” Her voice was monotonous and bored, not the least bit frazzled by Jisung’s wide eyes and heavy breathing.

“No, I don't have an appointment, but I have a dying boyfriend and some things to say to your fucking boss,” he growled. His palm stung from how hard he gripped the edge of the desk. The lady sighed understandingly and nodded.

“Ah, I see. I'll call him now.” She dialed a number and picked up the ancient phone on her desk. She smiled reassuringly over at Jisung as it rang, wrinkles disappearing to reveal a beautiful teenage girl blessed with green. “Boss, we got another one. What's your boyfriend's name, sir?”

“Lee Minho.”

“Lee Minho, sir. Send him up? Alright.” She hung up and gestured to a burly man standing at the end of the hall. His arms were crossed over his broad muscles which made even Changbin look like a chihuahua. “Go ahead, sir. One of our security guards will escort you to his office.”

He mumbled a shaky “thanks”, and followed the security guard to the elevator. The weight in his pocket became heavier the longer he stood next to the terrifying man in the cramped elevator. Sweat beaded along his hairline, and he brushed it away inconspicuously. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor, opening to reveal another long and dramatically lit hallway. Jisung trailed behind the security guard until the man stopped. He knocked gently on the door and opened it when he received confirmation from his boss. Jisung stepped into the middle of the small room, careful to avoid brushing against the burly man as he took his spot near the older gentlemen.

“Hello, Han Jisung, correct? Minho was quite the persuader when he swapped with you.” The senior chuckled, almost fondly, and Jisung’s previous hesitance faded into scorching anger at the mention of his lover.

“Great, now switch it back,” he stated bluntly. The gentleman laughed, and Jisung felt the blood pounding in his veins.

“Unfortunately, Jisung, all swaps are final. Look, I even have a cute little sign for it.” He pointed to a clearly handcrafted wooden sign hanging above his desk. Jisung wanted to smash it into pieces on the carpeted floor. How dare he make a joke out of Minho’s, anybody's, death. “You are not the first, and you will not be the last person to beg for me to spare their loved ones.”

Jisung slammed his hands on the metal desk, loving the way the senior flinched. The security guard eyed him wearily, but Jisung ignored his speculations. “I'll do anything to fix it, and that's the only warning I'll give you.”

The head placed a heavy hand on Jisung's shoulder and sighed. “I apologize, Jisung, but even if you killed me, the switch is irreversible.”

Jisung pulled away and smiled. “Well, then this shouldn't be a big deal then, should it?” Jisung pulled the trigger on the loaded gun that he hid under his hoodie. The senior's dead body slumped to the floor at the bodyguard's feet and Jisung laughed. The gun was kicked from his shaking hands, and he was quickly apprehended by the security guard. Employees rushed in at the sound, footsteps followed by surprised gasps and shouts for help, all drowning under Jisung's triumphant laughter.

He could faintly hear the deafening police sirens approaching the building, loud and awakening like Minho’s steady heart monitor.

The man woke up with a jump, his heart rate spiking momentarily. Jisung was no longer curled under his arm like a happy kitten, and the loss of warmth startled Minho. He searched the room as best he could from the bed, and when he noticed Jisung’s converse missing, he began to panic. He pushed the alarm on his bed, screaming for his doctor. She rushed in with a huff.

“Minho, what's wrong?” She frantically scanned over his vitals as she battered him with questions.

“Where's Jisung?” Just talking stung his raw throat and caused the irritation around his cherry lips to sting. His doctor deflated at the question, regaining her professional composure.

“I'm sorry, Minho, I don't know where he is.”

Minho’s heart monitor went crazy. “I need him here, he has to be here.” His breathing was erratic, heart thudding so loudly he couldn't hear the doctor yell at him when he stood up and ripped the IV from his sore arms.

“Minho! Sit down, please. You need to lay back.”

Minho ignored her and dashed to the opened door. She desperately tried to grab onto his hospital gown, but years of dance gave him a speed advantage even when high off morphine. He could vaguely register her screaming for nurses, but the full implications of her words didn't kick in until he was pinned to the ground by a male nurse, wailing and crying out for Jisung.

“No! I need my Sungie, where is he?”

The nurses ignored his cries and grabbed him by his arms. The adrenaline rush wore off quickly, as well as his fight. He distinctly remembered kicking at the people gripping his arms and legs before the restraints snapped shut over his aching limbs.

Jisung decided quickly that he hated handcuffs. They dug into his wrists and rubbed against his skin like needles. But the worst part was when the officer grabbed him by the dangling chain and pulled him around like a ragdoll. Now that really stung.

The cool night air felt refreshing against the burn of the cuffs, but it brought with it a realization that sent Jisung to his knees.

“Wait, please, I need to see Minho.” He resisted the officer's pull. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," He pleaded, begging. His lips quivered and his eyes stung. “Just one more time please.”

Jisung threw himself to the ground, much to the displeasure of the officers, brokenly wailing Minho’s name to the emotionless stars. Another pull and Jisung's body went numb in the officer's grasp. Minho’s name was imprinted on his tongue, the syllables sliding mindlessly past his lips.

“Sorry, kid.” The officer was far from sorry. “Murderers aren't allowed in hospitals.”

He was shoved into the back of the cop car, head narrowly missing the top. The officers conversed swiftly with the employees before sitting in the front seat and starting the car.

The sirens stopped, and the sound of a flatlining heart monitor echoed in Minho’s hospital room.

| 0 : 0 : 0 |
[ fin. ]